Mama's Boy (4 page)

7

E
ven the Word wasn't bringing her peace. That alone told Gloria just how hard this hit. Ever since she was a little girl, church had been her place of refuge. It had been where she sought—and received—comfort. But today, God's Word did little to heal her hurt. And for the first time in her life, she felt her faith wavering.

It had been eight days and God had not seen fit to bring her son home. Eight days and she had no idea where her only child was.

Images of her son's body beaten and buried in a shallow grave filled her mind. Just last year, another black Jasper resident, Alfred Wright, had come up missing. He was gone for eighteen days before they found his body, stripped down to his shorts and one sock, with his throat cleanly slit and one ear gone. His front teeth were broken and missing. The police had ruled it an “accidental drug overdose.” Everyone in Jasper knew better, but police had still closed the case. Nothing inside her would let Gloria believe that things would be any different with Jamal.

Elton had told her to stop thinking the worst, but at eight days, what else was she supposed to think?

The cops had been following them all week. There was even a marked unit outside the church today (she knew she'd hear about that later). Elton couldn't stand to be embarrassed in his church, so this was going to add a whole other layer of stress to their already stressful marriage.

Gloria had come to church today in search of solace, for comfort that her son was all right. But so far, her nerves had only gotten worse. Sitting in that sanctuary allowed her mind to wander into the worst places. She should've been paying attention, but she couldn't keep the horrible thoughts from coming. She couldn't stop thinking about Jamal and what would happen if the police found him first.

The thoughts clouding her mind were exactly why Gloria had been doing anything she could to keep moving all week long. She'd washed every dish in the house, rearranged the pots in the cabinet, scrubbed the baseboards . . . she just had to keep moving. Because if she didn't, she would die. If she didn't keep moving, she'd be reminded that her son was out there somewhere, scared to death. At least, she hoped that he was still out there. She hoped that some robocop or vigilante hadn't gotten to him first. They'd dragged James Byrd Jr. for no reason. Shot Trayvon Martin for looking suspicious. Gunned down Michael Brown, even though people said he had his hands up. Jamal Jones had given them reason to kill. There was no way he'd be safe.

Gloria tried to refocus and stop her mind from traveling down that “what if” road. She watched her husband from the pulpit as he spouted off something about the faith of a mustard seed. Once again, he hadn't even addressed the Jamal situation. He just pretended that the two strange white men in the back of the sanctuary
were visitors, not reporters. She knew who they were because they'd been nosing around before service and the gossip train had met her at the door this morning. Gloria had told Elton about them, but he'd just grumbled and walked off. Now he was in the pulpit doing what he did best—pretending all was well in the Jones household. It was a character flaw that Gloria had long ago given up trying to change.

Elton had just wrapped up his sermon and summoned the organist to begin playing for the altar call when Gloria felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see one of the ushers hovering over her.

“Sister Gloria?”

“Yes, Lena,” Gloria replied, wondering why this woman would disturb her in the middle of service.

“Can you step out in the vestibule?” Lena whispered.

Really?
Everyone at Mount Sinai Missionary Baptist Church knew Elton didn't like people moving around during his altar call, which was evident by the irritated look he was giving her right now.

“Please, it's Sister Naomi. She's sick,” Lena said.

Naomi Tucker was one of the church members who often babysat Jamal when he was young. Gloria flashed an apologetic look at Elton, then stood and followed Lena out.

Naomi was sitting on the bench in the vestibule, laid back, her plump legs spread eagle, one usher fanning her, another holding her hand.

“Naomi! Are you okay?” Gloria asked, sliding on the bench next to her.

Naomi groaned.

“She peeked in the sanctuary, then she just collapsed,” one of the ushers said. “She said she's feeling dizzy.”

Gloria put her hand on Naomi's forehead. “You don't have a fever. What's hurting you?”

Naomi's voice was weak as she said, “I just feel faint. Can you take me home?”

Gloria was about to reply when she noticed the two nosy reporters stepping out of the sanctuary.

“Is everything okay?” one of them asked.

She tried her best not to be rude, but their intrusion was definitely unwelcome and they hadn't come out here for any other reason than to see what was going on. “One of our members is sick,” Gloria snapped. “Is that newsworthy enough for you?”

As if on cue, Naomi moaned again. “I think . . . I'm going to throw up.”

“Get her to the restroom,” Lena said, grabbing her arm. Gloria took Naomi's other arm and helped her up.

The usher who had been fanning Naomi spoke up. “Service is about to let out. Can you take her to the restroom in the back?”

Gloria nodded as she and Lena began walking away

The reporters watched for a moment, then made their way out the front door.

As soon as Gloria and Lena got Naomi around the corner, Naomi turned to Lena. “Sister Lena,” she said, her voice weak and raspy. “Thank you, but I think I just need to go home.” She clutched Gloria a little tighter. “First Lady, do you think you can take me?”

Gloria raised an eyebrow. “Really?” All that she was going through and this woman wanted her to play taxicab?

“I can do it. It's no problem,” Lena said. “The First Lady is dealing with a lot right now, I can take you.”

Naomi seemed like she was about to topple over and she
grabbed Gloria's arms. Her fingernails dug into Gloria's arm to the point that it made Gloria wince. And then, it hit Gloria. Naomi knew something. This whole passing-out, moaning act was so out of character for her. So it could only mean one thing.

“I'm fine,” Gloria said to Lena. “I can use the air and I know my way around Naomi's place. I'll take her home, get her settled, and come back. Can you just let Elton know?”

Lena hesitated, then nodded. “If you're sure.”

“I am.”

“Ohhhhh, I feel so dizzy,” Naomi moaned.

“Do you need me to help you to get her to your car?” Lena asked.

“No. I'm okay,” Naomi quickly said. “Thank you, Sister Lena.”

Lena patted her hand. “You just go get some rest and let us know if we can do anything for you. I make a mean chicken noodle soup.”

Naomi nodded her appreciation, then turned and draped her arm further in Gloria's as they walked toward the back.

“Let me get my keys,” Gloria said, trying her best to stay calm.

Naomi glanced back over her shoulder, making sure Lena was gone. “Let's take my car.”

The sudden urgency, and miraculous healing, shut down all of Gloria's questions and she followed Naomi out through the kitchen, into the side alley, and to her car.

“Get in,” Naomi said, suddenly moving fast as she motioned for Gloria to get in on the passenger side. Her eyes darted around the alley, then she climbed in the driver's seat.

A thousand questions ran through Gloria's mind.

“Do me a favor and lean down,” Naomi whispered as she started her 1990 Lincoln.

Gloria's heart began to race, but she did as she was told as Naomi's eyes darted around to make sure no one was following her, then she turned down the gravel street on the side of the church, instead of through the normal exit.

“Sorry for the performance, but I didn't know how else to get you out of church,” Naomi said, her lips barely moving as she stared straight ahead.

“You know where Jamal is, don't you?” Gloria whispered as she crouched down in the seat.

Naomi didn't say a word as she turned the corner.

They rode in silence for the five minutes that it took to get to Naomi's house and as soon as Naomi pulled into her garage, then closed the door, Gloria was ready to bolt out of the car.

“Wait,” Naomi said, putting her hand on Gloria's forearm. “He's okay. And you know I love Jamal like he's my own. I'll do anything for him.” She paused. “Except go to jail. He showed up here on my way to church. Apparently he's been hiding out in my storage shed.”

Gloria's heart plummeted into the pit of her stomach. Her son had been in a storage shed for a week?

“He begged me to get you,” Naomi continued. “I don't know what to tell you to do. But he can't stay here. These police ain't playing and I just can't—”

Gloria stopped her. “Don't worry. I'm gonna get him to come home. I have to get him to come home.” Gloria didn't know how she would make that happen. All she knew was that she had to. She raced from the car to see her son, tears of relief flooding her face. Her son was safe. At that very moment, nothing else mattered.

8

G
loria couldn't stop shaking. Naomi had directed her to a back room that was full of sewing supplies. The room smelled of mothballs and dust and looked like it wasn't used for anything other than storage.

“Sorry he had to stay in here. He wanted to stay in the attic but I told him with all that asbestos, he didn't need to be up there,” Naomi said as she eased a dresser away from in front of what looked like a closet.

“No, I understand.” Gloria knew she should help Naomi move the dresser, but she was too stunned to act.

Her heart raced as Naomi grunted with her last push. When the dresser was far enough out of the way, she moved to open the closed door.

Gloria stood, holding her breath, and her stomach muscles tightened when she saw Jamal cowering inside the closet in fear. His face was dirty with caked-on mud. His clothes were filthy and torn.

“Oh, my God, Jamal!” Gloria fell to her knees in front of her son. She looked him over, then pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Mama, I'm sorry,” he cried. Hugging her brought an onset of tears and Jamal sobbed. His grip told her just how scared he'd been.

Gloria's tears mixed with his as she rocked back and forth, holding him like she never wanted to let him go. She could only imagine what he'd mentally endured for these past eight days.

“I'll give you a minute,” Naomi finally said. “But we can't stay long. We have to go before people start looking for you. We all have to go.”

Gloria nodded at Naomi, then pulled back and studied her son. In just a matter of days, it was as if every ounce of her son's innocence had been lost. “Are you okay? I've been scared to death.” She touched his face, his chest, everything to see if anything was out of place.

“I'm okay. I-I just don't know what to do.” His voice was weak and he looked like he'd made an excursion to hell.

Gloria helped her son up off the floor and onto a bench seat out in the room.

“What happened, baby?” Gloria asked.

“I don't know, Mama.” Jamal fell back against the seat. “I didn't mean to shoot him. I didn't. I was scared he was going to kill me. All I was doing was recording him harassing Dix and he jumped on me. I wasn't breaking the law.”

Suddenly Gloria regretted every lesson she'd ever taught Jamal about being confident and having his own mind. She should have told him like her daddy told her brothers,
You are and always will be a black man. Treat white folks with respect. Don't question authority, and do what the hell they say.
Gloria had always hated that. She felt like her father wanted them to be cowards and she'd vowed that things would be different for her own child.

Now look what it had gotten her.

“Tell me what happened,” Gloria said. “I talked to Brian, but it just doesn't make sense to me.”

“I don't even know what happened. Me, Squeaky, and Dix were hanging out and this cop started harassing us, talking about we looked like we were up to no good and that we had robbed a liquor store. I swear, Mama, we were just hanging out. The store owner was fussing but we weren't doing anything bad. And the cop started messing with us and roughing up Dix. And I started recording him. He got mad and told me to put the camera down. I wasn't in his way. I was standing off to the back recording. And he just charged me . . . and I . . . I don't know, he slammed me, and we struggled and some kind of way, I got his gun. I swear, Mama, I didn't mean to shoot him.”

Jamal burst into tears again.

Gloria pulled him close. “I know, baby. I know that.”

Tears streamed down Gloria's face as she held her son. Memories filled her mind. Childhood memories of an innocent little boy. A trouble-free little boy who once busted Old Lady Lewis's front window with a baseball and had cried for days. But this was no childhood game. This was real life. This was murder.

“I saw the news,” Jamal finally said. “They're gonna kill me. They think I shot him on purpose and the cops are gonna kill me.”

“No. We can work through this.” Gloria tried to sound reassuring, although she didn't even believe her own words. “We'll get through this. I'll just go get your father and—”

“No!” His eyes widened in horror. “You can't tell Dad that you saw me!”

“Jamal!”

“Daddy will want me to turn myself in. If the cops get me, I
don't stand a chance. I need some money. I've got to get out of town.” Panic filled his voice.

“Out of town? Jamal, what are you saying?” Gloria said.

“I have to go. I just . . . I needed to see you before I left.”

“Oh, Lord. You can't spend your life on the run.” That thought alone gave her an unexplainable amount of pain. “Let's see what your dad—”

“No,” he said, cutting her off again.

“Baby, I don't like keeping stuff from your father. He'll know what to do.” Gloria didn't think even Elton could figure this one out, but they needed to be working through this together.

“You know he's going to do what's right. He always does what's right.” Jamal sneered.

“Jamal . . .”

“Mama, I'm begging you.” He stood and paced across the small bedroom. His voice and body reeked of desperation. “Just get me some money.”

“I can't.”

“I'm out, then.” Jamal headed toward the door.

Gloria jumped up to stop him. “Wait. Please don't go. I'll get it. Just stay in your hiding spot and I'll come back. Just please don't leave. I'll work all of this out. I promise.”

Jamal stared at her; his eyes were puffy and red. “Okay, Mama, I won't leave yet. But I have to go.”

She nodded her understanding, then kissed him on his forehead. “Mama is here. I'm always here,” she said.

He didn't have to say a word but the look in his eyes told her that he believed her. Yet, as her son crawled back into the closet, Gloria wondered how in the world she was going to keep her promise.